


His scars

by NyaNya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Scars, kind a fluffy... in the end maybe, suicide talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:36:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyaNya/pseuds/NyaNya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John discovers a new scar on Sherlock's body, and learns Sherlock has a very different outlook on scars than he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His scars

One night, in bed, John notices _that_ scar for the first time. He wants to believe each scar he discovers on Sherlock's body will be the last, that he will never feel again that punch in the guts whenever he discovers a new line deep in his lover’s skin. A line that only means Sherlock suffered.

Sherlock seems oblivious to them. He never seems to mind when John’s gaze lingers for too long over his back when they are lying in bed, Sherlock on his belly, wearing nothing but sheets, John tracing a map of the underground networks deep in his skin, little ridges and crimson mountains and white paths that usually lead down to a place that belongs only to them.

John hates them all, flowing under his fingers, elusive like rivers of white blood. Every scar is a silent reminder of all the times he almost lost Sherlock. He wishes he could erase them all. He wishes he could have been there, prevented Sherlock from getting hurt, and swears silently to himself he’ll never let anyone add another scar on Sherlock.

But that one is different. Nobody did _that_ to Sherlock – he did it to himself.

John takes Sherlock’s wrist and kisses again _that_ scar, the faded white lash running parallel to the veins, too old to show boldly anymore, almost imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t actually breathing on that particular expense of skin.

“Erm, how did that…” He lets his voice trail, full of fear and earnest curiosity and anger.

Sherlock looks up and holds his gaze. “How did what what?” he answers in a quiet, don’t-start-to-bore-me voice.

“Did you try to slash your veins?” John blurts awkwardly, not knowing which euphemism to use, as if any euphemism could be fit, all too tame for such a desperate act. Suicide. John had thought about it so many times, but never actually got close to hurting himself. He hates what he’s seeing on Sherlock’s skin right now, the sheer realization of it.

“I did, long ago”, Sherlock answers flatly, not trying to shy away from the conversation. “At some point the world was simply too much. Too much noise, too much hate, too many thoughts. I tried to live in that world. I failed. I tried to die. I failed too”, he adds with a smile. A smile so sad John wanted to cry.

John goes back to his lover's wrist, planting repeated, pensive kisses on his skin. His brow creases, he can’t help but cringe.

“I hate your scars. They make me feel so helpless. Where have I been all your life, instead of protecting you?”

“John. Listen. Hate the wounds, don’t hate the scars. If I didn’t have scars, I wouldn’t be here with you. I love them, because they’re the proof that I lived.”

John looks Sherlock in the eye, and understands. Yes. Every wound that Sherlock survived, every scar that healed eventually allowed them to be where they were right now. He brushes another kiss on Sherlock’s wrist. A loving, tender, reverent kiss, a kiss to thank the scars that Sherlock was alive.


End file.
